


To Light a Candle with the Sun

by magniloquentChanteuse



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Bad Jokes, But fun!!!, Chronic Illness, Faerie AU, Flirting, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Not necessarily the nice kind, Peter is Fae, Suicidal Thoughts, i guess, tragic backstory
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-08
Updated: 2018-09-08
Packaged: 2019-07-08 17:29:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15935042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magniloquentChanteuse/pseuds/magniloquentChanteuse
Summary: Life isn't exactly FUN for a mercenary with a chronic and painful skin condition, but Wade does what he can. It helps that this mysterious Peter guy seems to actually like him. But why does he seem so familiar?





	To Light a Candle with the Sun

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thelonebamf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelonebamf/gifts).



> You guys!! If you read TCBRRG and you're here looking for more of that... turn back! This is different. Not even a little related. Different Peter, different Wade, different universe. It's something else entirely. But if you're cool with that, well,, go right ahead!
> 
> This is inspired by thelonebamf's submission to the spideypool prompt bang!! https://amazing-spiderling.tumblr.com/post/176041708455/this-is-another-submission-for-spideypoolfanfics

New York City, December

 

Wade stared up at the ceiling, sitting sprawled in the armchair in his psychiatrist's office. The woman was waiting patiently for him to answer her question, but he’d been sitting in silence for so long that he had forgotten what it was. The distractions weren’t helping.

 

_ Distractions? _ one of the voices in his head, the yellow one, demanded.  _ We’re not distractions. It’s different. We’re company. _

 

 **Unwilling or otherwise,** the white voice added dryly.

 

Company, sure, Wade agreed. But distractions anyway. It was their fault that he couldn’t remember what Dr. Handler had said to him.

 

**Oh, don’t blame us,** the white voice scolded with a painful air of disinterest. When even the voices in your head didn’t like you, there was an issue, Wade reflected.  **You could have ignored him.**

 

_ Ignored the way those joggers from earlier looked?  _ Yellow reminisced, pushing the images back into Wade’s head.  _ If I could be drooling, I so would be! The guy wasn’t wearing a shirt at all, and did you see the way the girl was— _

 

“Mr. Wilson?” Dr. Handler prompted him, and Wade lifted his head.

 

“Hmm? Oh, Dr. Handler,” he crooned. “I had almost forgotten you were here.” She gave him a somewhat terse smile and he felt compelled to correct himself before she decided to have him committed. “Just kidding. What was the question?”

 

“I asked how you were feeling.”

 

“Oh,” Wade snorted, laying his head back again. His fingers curled tightly on the arms of the chair. “Well, about the same as usual, I guess. I feel like I’m on fire, there are extra voices in my head, and I still don’t know how any of it happened, so I’m pissed off about it.”

 

“That’s understandable,” Dr. Handler said from beyond his line of vision. Yellow was trying to find boobs in the popcorn ceiling and Wade was inclined to help. “So you’d say that your current dosages aren’t working anymore?”

 

“Well, the pain meds get me pretty fucking high for a couple of hours,” Wade said, waving one hand loosely, as if to demonstrate. “And at least then I don’t  _ care _ about how much it hurts, but it doesn’t really make it go away. And the antipsychs— well,”

 

**They don’t do anything.**

 

_ Except make you tired, _ Yellow offered.  _ They make you tired. _

 

“What they said.”

 

“Hmm. Alright. I’ll try tweaking the doses a little bit and we’ll see if we can’t find some relief for you.”

 

Wade thought of the psychiatrists he had gone through before her. He thought of how none of them had been successful in curing him. Nobody knew what was wrong with him, and nobody knew how to fix him, and if he hadn’t agreed to be part of this damn study fifteen fucking years ago, he would have given up on it by now.

 

_ Sure, being diagnosed with a mysterious and incurable condition with only like, twelve reported cases ever is rough,  _ Yellow said in that smarmy voice of his.  _ But at least you got to name it. _

 

 **Meryl Streep Syndrome is hardly the most dignified name he could have chosen,** White muttered disdainfully, as he often had over the past eighteen years.

 

Wade grinned to himself. It had been a toss-up, he reminded the voices. Either Meryl Streep Syndrome or Banana-split-itis. At least now he got to sound like he was just a fanboy instead of hideously disfigured.

 

“Mr. Wilson?”

 

“Hmm?” Wade wondered how much he’d missed as he zoned out. His skin hurt.

 

“I’ve sent your new prescriptions to your pharmacy. You should be able to pick them up in about two hours. Give me a call if you experience any unusual side effects or if your symptoms worsen.”

 

“Sure,” Wade agreed, rolling himself to his feet and giving the good doctor a somewhat flaccid salute. That made yellow giggle. “As usual, doc, it’s been a pleasure getting absolutely nothing accomplished with you. Good day, madam.” He turned, then, and strolled out of her office with a swagger in his step that didn’t quite match the apathetic smoulder in his chest.

 

**Oh, time for another pity party, I suppose,** White drawled.  **Poor Wade is sick and hurt and nobody understands. Life is so hard for you, isn’t it?**

 

“Well it sure isn’t that fucking easy,” Wade muttered back to him, ignoring the look he received from the receptionist for it.

 

_ Poor baby, _ Yellow joined in gleefully. Blood in the water, Wade thought with a grimace, and the two of them were sharks.  _ Almost makes you want to go home and just put an end to it, huh? _

 

“No, as a matter of fact,” Wade answered, shoving through the doors out onto the street with a little more force than necessary. “It doesn’t.”

 

**Liar,** White scoffed.  **You can’t fool us. We know everything you do. We know everything you say. We know everything you** **_think_ ** **, Wade. We know how you really feel.**

 

“Clearly not.” Wade made a left down the sidewalk and picked up his pace, frowning ahead. He was an intimidating figure, he knew: his height and breadth were bad enough, and the somewhat shady-looking baseball cap and hoodie combo didn’t help anything.

 

_ And anybody who gets a look under it is in for a surprise, _ Yellow hooted, endlessly amused with himself. Wade rolled his eyes, stalking down the pavement and pretending not to notice the people scurrying out of his way.

 

**And pretending not to notice the way they look at you,** White added heartlessly.

 

“Yeah, Wade growled, fists clenching where he had shoved them into his hoodie pocket. “That, too.”

 

He looked up and there, standing next to a red crosswalk, was a pair of eyes looking at him.

 

**Staring** .

 

Yeah. Staring.

 

_ At least he’s cute, _ Yellow commented snidely.  _ Maybe he wants to get you in bed! _

 

**Not likely.**

 

_ Yeah, that was the joke. _

 

“Fuck off,” Wade hissed, approaching the crosswalk, now. Those eyes never left him and as he got close, he was forced to take in the rest of the face.

 

Yellow was right, he guessed: the guy was kind of cute. Brown eyes pointed his direction out of a young-ish, open face, and the wind picked at already tousled brown hair. Ordinary looking, but cute nonetheless. Not someone he was willing to debase himself for, though. Something about him seemed familiar: maybe Wade had seen him around before?

 

“You want to keep your eyes to yourself, jackass?” Wade demanded, shooting the guy a glare as he stopped at the crosswalk, waiting for it to turn green.

 

“What?”

 

Jesus Christ.

 

**Did he not hear you?**

 

_ Or is he just playing dumb? _

 

“I said,” Wade spun on his heel to face the man. “Keep your eyes to yourself.”

 

A grin spread across the guy’s face and Wade nearly decked him for it. “Why?”

 

“Because I don’t like being stared at, you little piss.” Wade was seeing red, now.

 

_ Can you believe this guy? _

 

**I’m not sure I can.**

 

“But I like looking at you.”

 

That took Wade aback, at least a little.

 

“What the fuck?” he managed to get out after a few beats of silence. “I don’t remember asking your opinion. This art exhibit’s closed to the public, honey.”

 

“That’s a shame.” The brunet was frowning, but there was a mischief in his eye that Wade might have liked if it weren’t for the subject at hand. “But I’ll pay admission, if I need to.”

 

Wade’s teeth gritted. “You callin’ me a whore, buddy?”

 

“No, no.” Two hands lifted defensively and the stranger’s eyebrows shot up in an expression of surprise. “I was just… continuing the metaphor? I’m not trying to get you to have sex with me or anything. But I  _ would _ like to take you on a date.”

 

What the fuck?

 

_ What the fuck? _

 

**What the fuck?**

 

Another few beats of silence, then, aloud, “What the fuck?”

 

_ Is he seriously trying to pick you up right now? Are you getting asked on a date on a street corner in Queens at one o’clock in the afternoon? _

 

**Talk about getting off on the wrong foot.**

 

There was another round of ‘what the fuck’s before Wade realized that the guy was staring at him, an expectant smile on his face. Wade realized he’d been distracted and missed something again.

 

“What did you say?” Wade asked him, brows furrowed with confusion. This conversation had taken a really sudden shift and he was feeling a little thrown for a loop. He hadn’t been asked out in a  _ really _ long time. 

 

**It’s a joke, obviously,** White told him disparagingly.  **Even you should be able to see through this one, Wade.**

 

_ No kidding, _ White agreed as Wade deflated.  _ No cutie like this would ever want to take your scabby ass out. _

 

“I said,” The stranger was speaking up, over the voices in Wade’s head. He snapped back to reality in time to catch the rest of the sentence. “My name is Peter.”

 

“Uh,” Even the mumbled response was enough to make Peter beam at him, and Wade felt a shiver go through his knees as his anger rapidly drained from him. “Is this some kind of joke?”

 

“No joke,” Peter promised, that smile still lingering on his face. “Are you free right now? I know a great place to get food. Are you hungry?”

 

“Uh— yeah,” Wade agreed, surprise tinting his voice. “I’ve got a couple hours to kill.”

 

_ It’s a trap! _ Yellow was insisting in a bad Ackbar impression.

 

“Great!” Peter looked like Wade had just agreed to give him a million dollars, and it was somehow both suspicious and flattering at once. “Let’s go,” he gestured for Wade to follow him, stepping out into the street as the crosswalk sign switched to green. Wade realized that they must have missed several rounds of traffic, standing there and talking the way they had been.

 

Wade followed him.

 

“You’re not going to try and harvest my organs or anything, are you?” Wade asked, voice light. “Because you might be disappointed. For one, my organs are just about as garbage as my face is, and for another, I won’t let them go without a fight. I’m pretty scrappy.”

 

Peter laughed, shooting a look over his shoulder.

 

_ He thinks you’re funny, _ Yellow noted with something akin to amazement.

 

**You’re falling right into whatever trick he’s playing on you,** White chose to warn him again.  **You’re following a stranger to an undisclosed location. This is the stupidest thing you’ve ever done.**

 

“I’m not going to harvest your organs,” Peter promised as he stepped up onto the far sidewalk. “Don’t worry. I really just want to hang out.”

 

“You do this often?” Wade prompted, putting a little lighthearted skip into his step. No reason not to enjoy this until he ended up murdered, he reasoned, and his voices found that they couldn’t argue. Not when they’d been encouraging him to die just a few minutes ago. “Pick up fugly ass strangers on the street to go on impromptu dates with?”

 

“Not really,” Peter slowed down to let Wade catch up— fast little bugger— and shot a look up at him. “Do you  _ accept  _ impromptu dates from strangers on the streets often?”

 

“Never,” Wade answered honestly. “This is the first time I’ve been invited on one, I think.”

 

“Well it seems like it’s about time you were, then.”

 

“Seems like it,” Wade agreed, head tipping to the side as his chest fluttered.

 

**I still don’t think that this is wise.**

 

_ Aw, come on!  _ At least Yellow had come around.  _ Let’s have a little fun. We never do anything  _ fun _ anymore! It’s all just work and moping, these days. _

 

Work was fun, Wade argued.

 

**The fact that you find mercenary work so entertaining is even more a signal of your mental instability than we are.**

 

“Oh, who asked you?” Wade huffed, and found Peter watching him again with that same expectant smile. “Did you say something?”

 

**He’s definitely going to catch on that you’re insane if you keep answering us aloud.**

 

_ Do it anyway! It’s funnier that way. _

 

“I asked what your name was,” Peter told him, and despite the fact that Wade has just been busted talking to himself, he still looked patient. Who did Peter remind him of? He wasn’t sure.

 

“Oh, did I not introduce myself?” Wade paused there on the sidewalk, fists propping on his hips as his chest puffed up. “Wade Wilson, love-maker extraordinaire, at your service.”

 

Peter had stopped, too, to watch him with unfettered amusement. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Wade.” A flash of teeth in another one of those somewhat fetching grins as Peter kept those brown eyes on him.

 

“The pleasure is mine,” Wade insisted in a courtly tone, making Peter snicker, then beckon him on.

 

“Let’s go,” he urged. “We’re almost there.”

 

“Sure, sure,” Wade agreed, letting his fists retreat back into his hoodie pocket. “So where are we going, anyway?”

 

“I know this great neighborhood with all kinds of stuff going on,” Peter told him, leading him down an alley.

 

**Warning sign number eight hundred,** White drawled. 

 

“Oh yeah?” Wade muttered, glancing around for some kind of ambush. It occurred to him that this might be a trap—

 

_ No kidding! _

 

A trap in revenge for something he’d done for work, he finished firmly, and both voices scoffed.

 

_ Who cares what it’s for? You’re about to get murdered, buddy. _

 

**I hope these moments of chatter have been worth this inevitable ambuscade.**

 

What the hell even was an ambuscade? How did White know words that Wade didn’t?

 

**It means ambush, moron.**

 

Oh. Well, in that case, “Worth it.”

 

“What was that?” Peter asked over his shoulder as they neared the end of the alley. 

 

“Nothing, Petey-pie,” Wade assured him, hands twitching towards his hips, where he might normally have a gun or two hidden away. Nothing, of course: he wasn’t supposed to bring them to Dr. Handler’s office. “So how much further?”

 

“We’re here,” Peter told him, and Wade tensed before stepping out of the alley.

 

All at once there was a burst of sound and light. Wade’s fists jumped up and he prepared to start swinging, but then the world around him came into focus and Wade saw that he wasn’t under attack. He was in the middle of some kind of street carnival.

 

Apartment buildings rose up around the courtyard they were standing in, creating some kind of oasis for the inhabitants who had found themselves here. There were planters on almost every window, on balconies and porches, railings and the cobblestone ground under their feet, all bursting with flowers and greenery. Strung between buildings were colored lights, shining cheerfully down on the square, illuminating food vendors and musicians and a crowd of people who were eating and dancing and drinking. Peering over them, Wade could see a few more outlets to the area, each similarly decorated.

 

“Whoa,” Wade blinked. “What’s this?”

 

“A party,” Peter answered simply, shrugging one shoulder. “I thought it would be fun for you.”

 

_ Holy shit! These people know how to party! _

 

**There’s an awful lot of people here.**

 

_ We’ll blend right in! _

 

**Either that, or we’ll stick out like a sore thumb.**

 

“I don’t usually like crowds,” Wade answered noncommittally, but he had to admit, it looked like the revelers ahead of them were having a good time.

 

“You’ll have fun,” Peter promised, and there was such sincerity in his tone that Wade couldn’t resist shooting a glance towards him. That earnest expression on his face would have been hard to say no to, Wade reflected as he felt himself relenting. It  _ did _ look like a good time.

 

Peter must have seen the look on his face because he brightened again, a flash of relief flickering over his face.

 

**He’s nervous.**

 

_ Yeah, but it is secretly-still-going-to-steal-your-kidneys nervous, or is it first date nervous? _

 

“Let’s dance,” Peter insisted, reaching out to snag Wade’s hand, and the move was so unexpected that his brain whited out for a second as he snatched his hand away. Peter startled, visibly surprised, then grimaced. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

 

“Scare?” Wade repeated, feeling like he was missing something. Why the hell was Peter apologizing? Wade was the one who had just scared  _ Peter _ .

 

“Yeah,” Peter held his hand out, slower this time: an invitation. “Do you  _ want _ to dance?”

 

_ What the fuck is happening? _

 

**I’d like to know that, too.**

 

Oh, be quiet, Wade chided them, reaching out to accept Peter’s invitation. It felt almost courtly, reminiscent of an earlier time. “Just consider me the belle of the ball,” Wade told Peter with a smirk, watching as that relief returned to Peter’s expression.

 

_ First date nervous _ , Yellow decided, despite White’s scoff.

 

“Awesome,” Peter beamed at him. “And I’ll be your escort.” 

 

“Shouldn’t we have a chaperone?” Wade asked as Peter turned to pull him towards the pulsing crowd, and the question made Peter snicker. 

 

“I guess we’ll just have to keep propriety in mind,” he answered flippantly, and the tone of his voice made Wade wonder exactly  _ how handsy _ Peter intended to get. It kind of sounded like the answer was  _ pretty damn handsy. _

 

As they broke through the surface of the bubbling dancers, Peter spun back towards him and caught Wade in his arms. It sent a thrill through him and he whooped with excitement as Peter lifted him in a twirl.

 

“Holy  _ shit _ , baby boy,” Wade exclaimed, feeling his the shadowy doubts clinging to his brain melting away in the face of Peter’s sunny smile. “How’d you manage that?”

 

Peter didn’t answer, laughing instead, as he caught Wade up again. He didn’t even sound out of breath, Wade noticed with no small amount of awe.

 

_ Petey’s got gains. _ Yellow sounded nearly as thirsty as Wade felt. White didn’t deign to comment aside from an annoyed huff. He was probably just turned on and didn’t want to admit it.

 

**That’s not it at all!**

 

_ Keep telling yourself that, if it helps you sleep at night. _

 

**I’m just concerned, is all.**

 

_ Oh, shut up. You just want to feel those strong arms around us again.  _

 

Peter was swinging him out again and as Wade tried to catch back up to reality, he realized he had no idea how to match this kind of dance. It wasn’t the dirty, sweaty grinding that passed for dancing in a club. It was like some kind of mix of ballroom dancing, swing, folk dance, and… well, a little dirty, sweaty grinding, too. He looked around, faces flashing by his vision as he tried to pick up the dance, and it seemed like everyone else knew the steps. The movements, while not exactly the same, were perfectly in sync. It was beautiful, it was exciting, and Wade felt wildly out of place.

 

But then Peter was spinning him back in and those bright eyes were back on his face, lacking judgement, and Wade felt the knot in his stomach loosen even as White fell into some kind of existential dread about what Wade was even doing in a place like this.

 

Wade didn’t care much that he didn’t fit in, here, he decided. It was just nice to have someone looking at him like he was something other than a disgusting freak, for once.

 

Wade relaxed and found that it was much easier to keep up with what Peter wanted from him that way. Peter was leading, and he was damn good at it: now that Wade was focusing on him, it was clear how to follow through on each step.

 

It was  _ fun _ .

 

He and Peter danced together, laughing and spinning and never once knocking into any of the other dancers, despite the close quarters. It was like something out of a movie, Wade thought, watching the way Peter’s brown eyes shone gold in the sunlight.

 

Eventually Peter swung him away again and someone else cut in. A woman, her golden eyes so eerily similar to Peter’s that for a moment he thought that Peter had somehow changed into her, but a glance over his shoulder revealed Peter grinning at him, waving him on to continue, so he did. He turned back to the woman, who was  _ also _ happy to lead— that was a relief, because Wade thought that he was picking this up, but he was  _ not  _ ready to accidentally drop this lady.

 

Wade danced. And it was  _ fun _ .

 

But just as he was  _ really _ getting into the swing of things, Peter was back, scooping him out of the arms of another woman— when had he changed partners? — and pulling him out of the crowd.

 

“Aw, come on, Petey,” Wade whined as Peter dragged him by the hand. “I was just getting good!”

 

“You really ought to eat something,” Peter told him, and Wade had to wonder if Peter was psychic, because now that he mentioned it, Wade was  _ starving. _

 

“Good call,” Wade agreed, glancing over his shoulder at the woman he’d been dancing with in time to see her disappear into the crowd with a wave and a wink. “Hey, so, just out of curiosity, how many arms did that lady have? In your opinion. Because it seemed like a lot more than two.”

 

Peter, apparently, didn’t hear him.

 

_ Or he’s ignoring you, _ Yellow offered helpfully, and Wade grimaced. Yeah, or that.

 

“I got us some food,” Peter told him, sitting him down in a chair. His legs hurt, Wade thought disinterestedly as he looked down at the round wicker table. It smelled amazing, Wade thought, staring at the unidentifiable meat skewers in the basket he found there. Beef? No, he didn’t think so, he thought, picking it up. Not pork, either. Whatever. He tugged a chunk off with his teeth, huffing at the surprising heat. Peter was grinning at him, over a red solo cup. Had Wade spaced and missed something again?

 

“What?”

 

“I didn’t say anything,” Peter assured him, and Wade shrugged one shoulder, feeling mildly unsettled for a moment, glancing towards the cup in front of him. It smelled like beer, he thought suspiciously, but there were a  _ lot _ of things that wouldn’t throw off the taste or the smell of beer. He decided that it would probably be unwise to drink it. Maybe he could grab one himself later.

 

Wade turned back to his food, and suddenly realized he couldn’t see it that well. His eyes lifted skyward and he saw that it was dark.

 

_ How? _ He gaped up at the cloudless night, stars obscured by the string lights draped around the square. How had it gotten so late? It had been afternoon when they’d gotten here. 

 

**You forgot about your medicine,** White reminded him, and Wade grimaced at the realization. Yep. He sure had. Well, it would be there tomorrow.

 

“What time is it?” he wondered aloud, and was relieved when Peter answered.

 

“Nine thirty or so. Why?”

 

Should he leave? They’d been here for  _ hours _ , apparently. How long were dates supposed to go? He wasn’t sure. How long had he spent dancing with that lady?

 

“Shit, Peter,” Wade groaned. “I’m a shitty date, I’ve been ignoring you this whole time.”

 

“No,” Peter was quick to assure him. “No. I’ve been having fun watching you dance. It’s nice.”

 

 **That’s a really strange thing to say,** White mumbled critically.

 

_ Maybe he was checking out our ass, _ Yellow suggested.

 

Maybe, Wade agreed distractedly. He was a little too flustered to really concentrate on the conversation in his head. Something about the way Peter had said that immediately discouraged the idea that he’d been laughing at him. He was being genuine. And  _ nice _ .

 

“You sure you’re not trying to steal my organs?” Wade gave him a grin, both defensive and hopeful at once, and the softening around Peter’s eyes loosened a knot in his guts.

 

“I’m sure,” Peter promised, and Wade nodded, reaching out to pick up his cup. All his food was gone, he realized belatedly. He didn’t remember eating it.

 

The beer was sweet and heady, Wade thought, feeling something loosen between his eyes. 

 

_ There’s no way in hell you’re drunk off of just one, _ Yellow thought incredulously.

 

**What did he give you?** White demanded, but the empty space just above the bridge of Wade’s nose was growing already and yeah, he was drunk. What the hell  _ had _ Peter given him?

 

Wade lowered the cup, licking his lips. Whatever it was, it tasted fucking good. “So, um,” He raised his eyebrows at Peter, who was idly flipping his cup over a bright light, trapping it underneath. 

 

**What was that?**

 

_ Wade? Are you even paying attention right now? _

 

“What is this?” Wade lifted his— empty cup? When had he emptied it? He looked down and found four more of them scattered around him. “What the fuck?”

 

Peter laughed and stood, rounding the table to Wade, where he held out a hand. “How many times are you going to ask me that?” he teased, and Wade thoughtlessly put his hand in Peter’s. He had no idea what was happening, but he felt… really good. 

 

“Once more, as always, Miss Swann,” Wade purred, making Peter snicker.

 

“It’s just ale, Wade. Maybe stronger than you’re used to, though.”

 

“Maybe,” Wade agreed. His head was spinning in a really, really nice way. The voices were clambering in the back of his head, but he found it much easier to ignore them, now. “Hey, where are we going?”

 

“I thought we could walk a little,” Peter said, and Wade realized that Peter hadn’t let go of him. “If that’s alright with you. You feel up to it?”

 

“Yeah,” Wade agreed even though he really wasn’t sure.  “Let’s do it.”

 

“Great,” Peter beamed at him and it almost looked like he was glowing in the night air. He was the sun, Wade thought with a growing sense of awe. He was the  _ sun _ .

 

**Yes,** White drawled.  **And you’re wasted.**

 

Wade pushed his input aside and walked alongside Peter. 

 

“What do you do, Wade?” Peter asked him, and Wade felt their fingers lace together. There was a stupid flutter in his chest and the voices chimed in again.

 

_ We’re in love! He’s so beautiful. _

 

**We’re not in love, we’re drunk. He’s only known Peter for a few hours and none of us know anything about him.**

 

_ We know that he has that cute messy hair, and those pretty eyes, and he glows in the dark! _

 

**He does not glow in the dark, we’re just very, very—**

 

_ Drunk, yeah, I get it. But look at that butt! Beer goggles or not, we ought to have been all over that by now! _

 

**As if he’d even want someone like Wade.**

 

_ Sure, he’s kind of a butterface, but Peter just needs to get an eyeful of our junk and he won’t be able to resist! _

 

**Wade,** White’s voice was urgent.  **Please do not take off your pants.**

 

Hmm, Wade mused silently, still tempted by the idea.

 

“Wade?” 

 

“Huh?” Wade looked at Peter. Oh, right. He’d asked about Wade’s profession. Not a very safe topic of conversation. “Um— odd jobs, I guess?” He stumbled over his words despite the fact that they were kind of true. “Whatever somebody pays me to do.”

 

“Never the same thing twice, huh? I like that.” Peter’s thumb was stroking absentmindedly over the scars on the back of Wade’s hand. It sent shivers through Wade’s entire body, making him ache with longing.

 

_ If it feels that good to have him touching our hand, just think of how good it would feel to have him touching other places! _

 

**You’re incorrigible.**

 

_ I don’t know the meaning of the word,  _ Yellow sniffed, and White heaved a heavy sigh. Wade tuned them out again in favor of paying attention to Peter. He didn’t want Peter to stop holding his hand, to stop touching him like he was something worthy of being touched, so he needed to pay attention.

 

“Do you have family nearby?”

 

“No,” Wade answered, lips feeling floppy. “No family at all, really. What about you, Petey? Family?”

 

“Yeah, I’ve got a lot of family in the area.” He chuckled like there was an inside joke that Wade was missing, but Wade joined in the laughter anyway. It felt like he was breathing sunshine when Peter aimed that smile over at him. “You danced with my sister for a while.”

 

“Your sister?” He thought of the woman with eyes like Peter’s, the woman with too many arms. A few other faces flashed through his mind and he realized he’d danced with… a lot of people.

 

“Kind of,” Peter added with a grimace. “More like… half sister. Or maybe adopted sister? It’s a complicated situation.”

 

“ _ Sounds _ complicated,” Wade mumbled, squeezing Peter’s hand in case he tried to let go. It didn’t escape his notice that Peter  _ didn’t  _ try to let go. “So this’s… this’s your neighborhood?” His words were continuing to slur, but Peter didn’t seem to have any trouble understanding him.

 

“Yeah.” Peter beamed with pride, looking up at the hanging lights up above. The brick sidewalk under their feet was mossy. Had it always been like that? There were vines growing on the buildings. How big was this block? “This is where I’m from. I love Queens, but this part, in particular, is… it’s my home.”

 

“It’s real pretty.” Wade looked up, too. He felt like there was another name for those lights, he thought, brow furrowing. What were they called? He just couldn’t remember.

 

_ Christmas lights? _

 

**They’re just called string lights, you buffoon.**

 

No, Wade thought, lips pursing. There was another name. They turned a corner and Wade saw what looked almost like a forest at the end of the street. A park, he reasoned. There was a park, there. He could see a fountain near the entrance. It looked like there was someone in it.

 

_ No, that’s just water. You’re seeing things. _

 

**It is… strangely animated, though.**

 

“I like it here,” he concluded, squinting at the swirling figure half hidden by the jets of the fountain.

 

“I’m glad to hear that.” Peter beamed at him, and it was like the sun was coming up. 

 

No, wait, he thought, turning to perplexedly at the sky. The sun  _ was _ coming up.

 

_ What the fuck is going on? _

 

**What the fuck is going on?**

 

“What the fuck is going on?”

 

“What do you mean?” Wade lowered his gaze back to Peter and it took him several moments to realize that the greenery behind him had vanished, leaving behind the cold gray of New York City.

 

“What time is it?” Wade asked, feeling strange. He didn’t feel drunk, suddenly. It was dawn and they were somewhere that struck him as familiar, but he was so disoriented that he couldn’t place it.

 

“Almost seven, I think.” Peter didn’t look tired. He was still giving Wade that sunlight smile and it was so distracting that Wade continued not knowing where they were. “Thanks for coming out with me. Sorry I kept you out so late.”

 

“Uh— yeah. I had fun. I think.” Wade rubbed at his head, a grin spreading over his cheeks. “What I  _ remember _ was fun, anyway. Nice meeting you, Peter.”

 

“You, too, Wade,” Peter agreed, but what he said next floored Wade. “Next time I won’t give you so much to drink,” he teased, squeezing his hand.

 

“Next time?”

 

_ Next time! _

 

**Did he really say that? Or are we hallucinating? Lack of sleep? Lingering drunkenness?**

 

“Not likely, bitch!” Wade exclaimed, exaltant, visibly startling Peter, and he realized suddenly that his comment, directed at White, was probably pretty hurtful to the guy who’d just invited him on another date. Whoops. “Shit, shit, wait, no,” he backpedaled hastily. “That wasn’t to you. Yes, next time, definitely I won’t drink so much. Next time I’m going to be a total boyscout, okay? I’m going to be a real gentleman and not get so fucking wasted that I can’t even remember the date.”

 

Peter, who had tensed at Wade’s shout, relaxed again, relief plain enough on his face that Wade felt bad all over again. 

 

_ He looks like a baby angel,  _ Yellow sighed dreamily. Wade had to pout because  _ he _ wanted to be the one to think that.

 

Oh, shit, he was missing the conversation again. He really needed to  _ focus. _

 

“What?” he prompted Peter, one finger pointed at his own ear. “Sorry, my ears are still ringing from when you asked me out again. What did you say?”

 

Peter laughed, head tipping to the side in an infinitely endearing gesture. “I said that I’m free pretty much whenever.”

 

“Oh,” Wade blinked, nodding slowly. “Um, me, too. I have a job starting next Monday, but other than that, I don’t really have anywhere to be.”

 

**Except to pick up your medicine.**

 

Oh, yeah! He’d forgotten. He really ought to do that. He looked around, noting that for a moment, the world seemed fuzzy and out of focus. He was more tired than he’d thought, he admitted to himself, letting out a long breath as the blurriness faded from his eyes. They were outside his therapist’s office, he realized: standing on the street corner where he and Peter had first met. It felt like only minutes had passed, but the morning rush hour was already picking up.

 

“Friday,” Peter said, firmly enough that it pulled Wade from his internal musings. “At five o’clock. We can meet right here.”

 

“Yeah—” Wade grinned down at him, still kind of wondering what a babe like this could want with a grody fucker like him. “That sounds good.”

 

“Sounds good.” The way he was looking up at Wade kind of made it look like he was waiting for a kiss; the way he was grinning up at him, the morning sunlight bright on his face; the way he was blinking, affection shining behind his eyes like he  _ knew _ Wade so much better than he could, like he  _ liked _ what he saw—

 

Wade waited too long and the moment broke as Peter shifted back minutely, although his smile didn’t falter for a second. “I’ll see you soon, Wade,” Peter promised, the warmth of the sun on Wade’s face until Peter turned away, walking down the sidewalk, shimmering like a mirage until he finally disappeared around a corner.

 

**You really are crazy.**

 

_ Crazy in love! Ooh, baby, I hate to see you leave, but I love to watch you go! _

 

Wade couldn’t take his eyes off where Peter had disappeared. The sun was still shining, but it felt like it had gotten colder. He could look East and  _ see _ it, the whole disk of the sun burning against his eyes, but the world seemed suddenly overcast.

 

**Dependency at its finest,** White sniffed haughtily, obviously disgusted by the way Wade and Yellow had latched onto the first person to show him any kind of not pity-based kindness in years.

 

_ Well, _ Yellow had to admit.  _ Not pity-based as far as we could tell, anyway. But that’s still one hell of an improvement! _

 

 **You two are despicable,** White told them sternly. **Don’t you have any standards?**

 

_ Um, first of all, _ Yellow quipped back.  _ No. Secondly, even if we did, Petey would meet  _ all  _ of them. He’s perfect! _

 

The two of them continued to bicker, but Wade wasn’t paying much attention. He could feel the chill of rain in the air, even if there were no clouds in sight to threaten it. He turned and started walking again.

 

His feet hurt, he realized again. How long had he danced last night? How long had he and Peter walked? God, he was glad that he didn’t have any jobs until next week. He needed to just… sit down for a while. Like, three days. Yeah. That sounded nice.

 

_ As long as you’re rested by Friday!  _ Yellow had apparently tuned back into Wade’s thoughts.  _ Need to get a full night’s sleep, because as far as I’m concerned, you need to keep that boy up all night long. And not with walking and dancing! _

 

**He’s never going to get Peter in bed.** White was in a real argumentative mood.  **I’m not argumentative, I’m realistic. Sure, Peter took you out tonight. Ah— last night. But that doesn’t mean he wants to sleep with you. It will surely be more of the same: passing you off to someone else so he doesn’t have to spend any more time with you. And that’s if he even shows up at all. He would be smart just to ditch us. After all, it’s not like he gave you his number or anything. It would be all to easy for him to just disappear.**

 

Well, that was a… disheartening thought, Wade had to admit as he slumped his way to his apartment. 

 

_ He might show, _ Yellow said, but it was quieter, less hopeful than he had been before.

 

**He might. But I don’t think he will. And neither do either of you.**

 

None of them had much else to say after that. It didn’t help, Wade supposed, that he could feel the deep sadness coming off of White when neither Wade nor Yellow managed to change his mind.

 

Wade let himself into his apartment, barely remembering the walk there. He locked the door behind himself and turned to look at it.

 

It was a dump. 

 

He could spend all the time he wanted standing by his door. He could stay there all morning, describing to himself the piles of trash, the empty DVD cases scattered around the room, the bullets littered on the ground near the coffee table where he’d spilled a box and not bothered to pick them up. He could spend his afternoon describing the smell in the kitchen, the way he didn’t even bother to go in there most of the time, anymore. It wasn’t worth the risk to his health and safety, even as suicidal as he could be. The evening he could blow complaining about the lumpy, stained couch, the crappy television, the pock-marked table. He could replace them, he thought flatly. He could afford to get better furniture. He could afford a maid, maybe. He just never… seemed to get around to it.

 

When Wade came home, he didn’t want to worry about solutions. He just wanted to be alone.

 

_ You’re never alone, though, are you? _

 

**And you never will be again.**

 

He turned and headed for the bedroom, dropping his hoodie along the way. The cold gray feeling hadn’t faded as he walked, instead only growing stronger the further he got from the place he had last seen Peter.

 

He fell against his pillows, eyes drooping shut. Behind his eyes he could almost see him, he could almost see that radiant sunshine smile. Wade smiled back at him, and all the voices in Wade’s head sighed at once.

 

Peter.

 


End file.
